Page 21 of Brutal Union
“She is fine, spending the weekend in the Hamptons with her friends.”
I scoff. “Are you having the girl watched?”
“She has been watched since high school.”
I walk into the closet and look at an array of jeans, button ups, t-shirts and hoodies hanging up like an all I can wear buffet of fuck Sho.
I run my hands over the expensive fabrics and pinch my phone between my ear and shoulder. “That was a protection detail by her father, not her weird stalker-ishfriend.”
“I am not a stalker,” Alek snarls and I chuckle because his anger could scare armies, but to me it’s like a tickle.
“You’re not her friend either,” I remind him, pulling out a black hoodie that looks two sizes too big and heading to the dresser in search of joggers and a tank top.
He huffs, and I smile to myself. See, Aleksandr has had a crush on Lily for years. Lily, whose father was once one of our father’s closest confidants—until he died on our father’s orders, of course. Classic.
Does Lily know about Aleksandr’s crush? No. Will Aleksandr ever admit it like a normal human being instead of grunting and brooding around her like a caveman? Also no.
But who am I to judge? I’m locked in a violent, codependent maybe-something with a man who just left me tied up and naked in a Tokyo penthouse. So no judgment here—just envy. Some people get a cute will-they-won’t-they. I get this: deranged, dysfunctional, and completely unhinged.
And the worst part? I want this again. The adrenaline. The anticipation. The heat. It’s fucking immaculate. And I can’t get enough. But if Sho ever asks? He’s a dead man and I fucking despise him.
“No more Lily talk. People could be listening,” Alek grunts, and I hear the distinct clink of a lock snapping shut on his end.
“Meet me in Marunouchi. Two hours.” I yank a pair of black joggers from the drawer.
“Of course,Vor.” Aleksandr mocks, using the official moniker of the Bratva leader.
“Shut up and bring me a change of clothes.” I growl moving into the bedroom.
Aleksandr chuckles, low and smug. “I don’t even want to know which one of you is kinky enough to leave without them.”
My jaw tightens. “Two hours.”
I hang up before he can say anything else, cheeks burning as I toss the phone onto the bed. It lights up again almost instantly, and when I glance over—there it is. A message from my fucking arch-nemesis.
UNKNOWN: I hope you got out of your bondage.
I practically scramble across the bed to pull the phone into my hands.
NADIA: I am going to kill you.
UNKNOWN: Now, don’t threaten your dom. I may have to gag you with more than your panties.
I pull my thighs tight, my center pooling.
NADIA: Next time, I will be gagging you with a gun.
UNKNOWN: Mmm promise?
I stare at the screen, seething. “Oh, you think you’re cute,” I mutter, growling low in my throat. Talking to him is like setting myself on fire and pretending I don’t love the burn.
I toss the phone onto the bed, resisting the urge to hurl it through the window. My skin still hums from being touched, spanked, and bound. I can feel the dried sweat and slick clinging to every inch of me like a second skin.
I march toward the bathroom, blood still crusted faintly around the cut on my palm, my thighs sore with bruised muscle and phantom sensation. My reflection catches me in the mirror as I reach for the faucet—hair wild, lips swollen, bite marks blooming at the edge of my collarbone like blooming bruises.
I look like a woman who just survived a war—and lost. But I don’t feel like a loser. The only man to make mefeellike a loser was Boris, my father, but Sho knew I was strong enough for these wounds and bruises. He knew what I could handle.
I turn the shower on, and hot water hisses from the shower head instantly, the steam rolls over my exposed flesh and I sigh at the sensation knowing the water will be better.
